


Royal Purple Dyed in Blood

by Ragingstillness



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: ClanLeader!Simon, Fledgling!Raphael, M/M, Magnus continues to be awesome, Role Reversal AU, runs somewhat parallel to canon, some small details have been changed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: It's been two years since Simon Lewis ousted Camille Belcourt and took over the New York vampire clan. Now she's returned to the city and begun attacking mundanes in clear violation of the Accords. Blood will spill on both sides if she isn't stopped but when she turns one of her victims, the guantlet may have already been thrown.





	1. The World Ends With A Whimper

    Simon Lewis awoke with a start to feel a phantom pressure on his face, an indent from the notepad he’d fallen asleep on. He groaned and stood from his desk, stretching out the cracks and soreness that always came with the late days he forgot to stumble the final few steps to his velvet sheets once the paperwork was done. And for this day it had been. Key word being “had.” 

    Once his eyes adjusted to the beautiful nightfall shades of his room he noticed a new stack of papers balanced on the edge of his desk along with a glass of blood. Simon smiled, Stan must have put it there. Or maybe Lily, but while the paperwork was her style, the blood wasn’t, unless she was in a generous mood. 

    A glance at the grandfather clock informed him that it was becoming night, eight o’clock. The sun had just set, Simon could feel it in his bones. He gave the new stack of papers a rueful glance, then ignored them in favor of swiping the glass off the table and setting it on progressively less steady surfaces as he sipped from it, in between wriggling out of last night’s clothes. 

    He flung open his closet and strode in, hopping a hand over the mixed suit jackets and graphic tees. He was just reaching for one of his favorite Marvel shirts when he remembered what day it was and grimaced. 

    Greeting guests from other clans was always a pain, typical vampire decadence demanding formal wear, fine dining, and of course the best hospitality the clan could offer while the other clan heads took verbal potshots at Simon for his leadership. His grimace deepened into a scowl. It wasn’t easy to monitor the whole of New York, much less keep all of his vampires in line when the whole Downworld was on high alert because of Valentine. 

    Simon hadn’t been directly involved in the Uprising as he was still a fledgling at the time and out of the country. But he had been lucky. The American vampire population had been devastated by The Circle, due to their vulnerability to sunlight and lack of preparations for a serious attack. By the time Simon made it to New York and joined the clan, their numbers had been halved. 

    Most of his now close friends had spent those days in drunken stupors or states of constant depression, trying to forget all of the family and friends they’d lost. Looking back, it made perfect sense that they had bowed to a will like Camille’s. 

    Simon violently flicked an array of shirts, sending the metal hangers clanking as they slid along the long bars they hung from. 

    The older vampire had swept in from some place generically “out of town” and offered her resources to the clan in the form of money and pleasures. The shattered clan leapt at the offer. All but Simon, who’d spent too much time with Magnus Bane to not know how to cheer himself up in all situations. Camille had quickly seen he couldn’t be manipulated and had made him her right hand man. Keep your enemies close and all that. 

    But for all of Camille’s material generosity, she involved herself not at all in the emotional process of comforting the depressed and healing the wounded. That was Simon. So while they may have been indebted to Camille, even she could feel how loyal they were to Simon. 

    At the time Camille had seemed like nothing but an absent yet generous benefactor. Then one day Simon discovered correspondence between her and a couple old vampires that proved she was keeping subjugates in an outside apartment for her own amusement. Simon had almost thrown up when he found out. 

    He didn’t act at the time, but his disgust for Camille grew, and with it he began to notice more of what was wrong with her. By the time he confided in Magnus and the High Warlock of Brooklyn proved himself worthy of his title with a tirade of rage that left Simon speechless, Simon was panicking over how terribly Camille was rending the Accords. He began to discuss options with some of his closer friends and one dinner time in the common room Simon put his plan into action. 

    Camille had provided several pieces of furniture to the hotel, including the repairs she made on the roof where The Circle had poked deadly holes. One of these was The Table. Simon pronounced it in all capitals. The Table was a long strip of oak with benches, the likes of which would be found in a Lord of the Rings mead hall. Seats were allocated according to power. The head of the table was reserved for Camille, the only spot with a chair. 

    Simon generally sat on her left with the others lined up, but this time his allies got there before Camille. They took places on the benches, ignoring the typical power order to sit with their friends. The vampires Simon had been unsure of looked confused, then adapted, finding spots without complaint. He exhaled mentally. 

    Then came the hard part. Simon was the only one still standing, aside from Camille, who hadn’t come in. He took an unnecessary breath then grasped onto the back of Camille's gilded chair, dragging it across the floor and sitting down before moving back into the table. The eyes of the unsure widened but they said nothing. Simon swore he could see relief in some of their eyes.

    It took only a minute then Camille’s heels clicked down the hall and she entered the room. She surveyed the clan first, noting with distaste how disorderly they were. Then she rounded the chair and stared down at Simon, her fangs glittering in the array of her smile. 

    “Simon dear, may I have my chair?” 

    Simon stood, pushing the chair back, but he didn’t move from his position. He turned to Camille and clasped his trembling hands behind his back. 

    “Take the chair if you want. But you’ll have to take it back to wherever you came from; we don’t want you here anymore.” 

    Camille laughed, the sound like razor blades. “You mean you don’t want me here, little caramel.” She faced the clan. “After all I’ve done for you, you can’t really want me gone.” 

    A silence fell. Stan, bless his dead heart, had stood and folded his arms. He glared at Camille. 

     “Yes, we do want you gone.” Her expression turned murderous and she swung around to Simon. Stan was quick to add, “And if you lay a hand on our new leader, I’ll stake you myself.” 

     There were a couple of whoops of approval, then a clatter of shoes as the whole clan took to their feet. Lily was the next to speak. 

    “Leave, Camille, and never come back. You’re lucky we don’t turn you in to the Clave.” 

    Indeed, the only reason they weren’t was because of the animosity that still existed between the Downworld and the Shadowhunters. Their other option was keeping her imprisoned in the hotel itself but with so many new fledglings, Simon didn’t want her around their impressionable minds. Camille had never looked so angry but she shook her hair out of her face and strode out the door, waving to them. 

    “Keep the things, you should be able to find a good use for them.” 

    Simon had ordered everything Camille brought to be burned that very night. 

    It had been two years since then, and Simon had led several successful operations to rescue and release the subjugates Camille had been keeping. It was a gruesome process. The mundanes were kept with just enough blood in their veins to stay alive but not much else. The bites were not well taken care of, and plenty of the mundanes were sick. The clan was a strange sight during those days, vampires rushing out to 24hour pharmacies to get the mundanes medicine. 

    Simon only counted the operations as successes because they saved each and every human. He wiped their memories with his own encanto, sending them back to their families, some who hadn’t seen them for years. His control was legendary among vampires but even if it didn’t keep the memories suppressed, Magnus’ memory potions should do the job. 

    Simon had hoped Camille would go off somewhere else and bother a different clan, one who wouldn’t be against turning her in to the local Institute, but instead she had stuck around, causing trouble. She’d killed several mundanes already, and Simon was beginning to lean towards issuing a kill order for her. The logistics were difficult but he could do it. 

    They were hosting the Chicago clan tonight and while he hated most of the Chicago advisors, their leader was one of his oldest friends. He’d ask the man for advice. 

    Simon banished the memories with a shake of his head and reluctantly moved his hand from the soft cotton of the Marvel shirts to a red silk button up and embroidered vest. He grabbed a matching tie from his collection and black slacks. The last touches were a silver locket that held pictures of his family, diamond cufflinks, swirling steel ear cuffs, and a black suit jacket. He tugged on the uncomfortable clothes and frowned at himself in the mirror. 

    He looked like a leader, a supernatural businessman of the night. And he hated it. He wasn’t the kind of leader who draped himself in jewelry and spent every waking moment making dramatic hand gestures. Simon was the kind of leader who wandered down to the common room in sweat pants and played guitar for the fledglings when they missed their families too much. But thus far every other leader he’d met had the former attitude so he had to look the part. 

    With a final run of gel coated fingers through his hair, Simon washed up and walked out of his room, carrying the empty blood glass. A couple hallways down he reached a half-staircase, dangling out into the air. He strode down the steps, letting his feet meet the empty air with ease, dropping to the ground, vampire strength lessening the impact on his ankles. 

    Elliot, one of Simon’s closest friends, was already puttering around in the kitchen, preparing several glasses of blood, dropping hangover reliever into a couple. Elliot had been out clubbing the night before, celebrating one of Magnus’ many seemingly goalless yet amazing parties. Simon had wanted to come but the paperwork beckoned. He’d sent Magnus a pouty fire message. 

    Elliot looked up when Simon entered and gave him a nod. Simon inclined his head in response and set the glass in the dishwasher. Clapping a hand on Elliot’s shoulder as he passed, Simon made his way down another set of half-stairs to the common room. Some of the elder vampires were already there, putting the finishing touches on cleaning the rooms. 

    They had draped the chandelier with long ribbons of black and red silk, the chosen colors of the Chicago Clan. Simon’s own were blue and green, which at first glance didn’t seem intimidating until flashes of those colors were all you saw before one of his vampires ripped your throat out. 

    Simon waved to the elders then sat down in one of the armchairs scattered across the room to wait for the Chicago Clan. They would be there in about an hour but Simon had made sure the clan was prepared in advance. He snagged a unnaturally large book off a side table, and opened it. The front of the book proclaimed it to be Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, but Simon had modified it to hide a fantasy novel he’d been enjoying. Appearances were one thing but he wouldn’t sacrifice every piece of himself. 

    His clan trickled downstairs in tiny rivulets, groups of three, two, one. They took seats at the bar or in the many armchairs, quietly calling out greetings to Simon. 

    Exactly an hour later the doors to the hotel banged open and a crowd swarmed in, vampires of all kinds, all in black or red, and at its head, a tall man in a black trench coat over an embroidered scarlet and onyx robe. He carried a gold tipped cane he didn’t need and a single monocle glinted in his right eye. His salt and pepper hair leant him an air of ancient prestige yet all of this fell to the wayside when he saw Simon. 

    He rushed forward, meeting Simon as he stood, wrapping the smaller vampire in a tight hug. They swayed from side to side, holding as tight as physically comfortable with vampire strength. Then the man pulled back, holding Simon at arms length. He looked him up and down. 

    “Lewis, you look thinner than usual. Rogues stressing you out?” 

    Simon sighed. “Oh let’s not talk business, Marlin. The night is young. You, on the other hand, look great. The cane was a nice touch.” 

    Marlin waved the object in question. “You think so? I need something to scare the little ones with.” 

    Simon laughed. “You are a terror to all fledglings.” 

    Marlin grinned and sat down next to Simon. The Chicago clan split up to speak with some of Simon’s clan. The fledglings were particularly happy to see each other. The advisors, however, stuck around behind Marlin, standing and trying to look threatening. Simon internally rolled his eyes. 

    The night continued in much of the same vein, Simon and Marlin catching up and swapping stories with the rest of their clans. As they passed the stroke of midnight Simon found he had put off the pressing questions long enough. He crossed his legs and turned closer to Marlin. Marlin noticed and waved his cranky advisors away. Lily quickly swallowed them up in the festivities. 

    “You have your serious face on, Lewis.” 

    Simon would have chuckled but, as Marlin said, he had his serious face on. “I’m thinking of issuing a kill order on Camille.” 

    Marlin sighed. “A kill order is serious business. You’d need clan-wide approval and then organize patrols so your entire territory was on high alert. It’s disruptive to say the least and causes all sorts of friction with local species.” 

    Simon leaned his elbows onto his knees and folded his hands under his chin. “I know, but she’s killed several mundanes already. I can’t just let it go and claim she’s a rogue. The Clave, and, at very least, my conscience, won’t allow it.” 

    “Agreed. Hmm, you’re in a tough situation old friend.” Marlin sat back in his chair and covered his eyes, falling silent. His voice crept out from in between his fingers. “Issue the kill order. I can’t see any other options. But if you need any extra eyes on the ground, don’t hesitate to ask. I know Camille by reputation. Hunting her will be no easy task.” 

    Simon nodded. Now that he’d gained tacit approval it all seemed too real. He was only 70 or so years old. Yet here he was leading a clan of about 60 against a centuries old temptress. It didn’t exactly bolster his confidence. 

    A voice in his head spoke up, what he called his “leader voice,” reminding him of why he was issuing the order and how successful his track record with this clan had been. He sighed and the tension drained from the conversation. 

    The rest of the night was spent in revelry and happiness. The Chicago envoy slept over in the guest rooms then left early the following night. Marlin was the last to walk out the door and as he did so he tapped Simon on the shoulder with his cane, locking eyes. He saw determination reflected back and swept out of the door with a smile. 

    Simon was striding towards the back of the room to make his announcement when the doors burst back open and one of his fledglings rushed in, a scout he’d sent out on regular rounds. 

    The boy, named Owen, rushed straight to Simon. He keeled over, panting, still unused to not having to breathe. When his human instincts had receded Owen stood back up. His eyes were shaking and glittering. Simon opened his mouth to speak when Owen jumped in. 

    “Simon, you have to come now.” 

    Simon laid a hand on Owen’s sleeve. “Why?” 

    Owen took a deep breath. “It’s Camille.” 

    Simon’s brain went on full alert, rapidly processing the story as Owen presented it. “We found another victim, drained of blood, but this one’s different. She-” Owen choked in disgust. “Once he dies he’ll be in transition.” 

    Now Simon felt sick. Draining mundanes was one thing, at least their mortal souls had the ability to go to heaven. Half-formed fledglings in transition would float in limbo unless they were staked or buried. He had no doubt that this was a message, from Camille to him. A blatant show of disrespect. 

    Simon strode towards the door, snapping his fingers to bring Elliot, Stan, and several others with him. Lily would take temporary command while he was gone. Owen led the way, the entire group rushing at supernatural speed down the streets. He led them to an alleyway off of a line of restaurants, just on the edge of a street leading to a residential area. Bile rose in Simon’s throat. The poor mundane had probably been on the way home. Now he may never see his family again. 

    And he could smell the blood from here. As horrified as he was, he could see why Camille had chosen this one. The blood smelled faintly of dark chocolate, a luxurious call back to the days when any vampire could eat the stuff. 

    Owen rushed forward to meet up with his older patrol partner, a man by the name of Daniel. Daniel waved Simon forward. Simon rounded the corner and it was then he saw him. 

    Simon was unashamed to say his legs gave out, kneecaps cracking brutally against the pavement. Daniel had propped up the half-fledgling against the wall, as though he was slumped over, drunk. But the smell of blood said otherwise. The horror in Simon only grew as he took in Camille’s latest victim. 

    He was a young man, with that ageless quality of all young adults, halfway between adolescent and true adult. High cheekbones, but a face made up of smooth lines. A couple jet black curls swept across his forehead, having moved beyond the power of whatever hair gel had slicked back the rest. His eyes were closed, lashes tickling cheeks that must have been a slight shade of caramel in life. Now his dark eyebrows and lashes stood out starkly against the pallor of death. 

    Simon moved towards him and laid a hand against the young man’s face. He frowned and moved the hand to the half-fledgling’s neck. Simon gasped. There was still a pulse there, a beat that was slowing the longer he sat there. Simon’s head dropped to his chest. No science, magic, or medicine could save the half-fledgling now, they would have to wait for him to die. 

    The young man hadn’t responded to Simon’s movement but at Simon’s touch his eyes opened and he coughed, blood spilling over his pale lips. His irises had glazed over and unconscious tears crinkled at the corner of his eyes. But Simon could still see they were beautiful, a kind of chocolate brown that shone underneath the milky film that was taking over his vision. 

    He focused on Simon once the coughs had wracked his body enough. His red-stained lips parted and his bloodless lungs managed to choke out a single word. 

    “Ángel?” 

    Simon’s heart broke. He took the mundane’s hand. The young man used a little bit of his remaining strength to curl his fingers around Simon’s, slipping, trembling, into the spaces between. Simon couldn’t answer. 

    As he watched the young man’s breath shortened and he coughed again, liquid slipping over his white teeth. The tears in the half-fledgling’s eyes flowed down his cheeks, clear like water then vaguely pink, until finally they were more red, red like blood. Simon felt tears prickle his own eyes. 

    The young man’s hands felt normal to Simon, which was concerning in of itself. Vampires were permanently cold, so if his fingertips felt normal to Simon, it meant he was close to the transition stage beginning. And his life ending, that was. 

    It was so unfair. He couldn’t have been more than 17, perhaps even younger than Simon had been when he was turned. Now the half-fledgling only had two options, death, or vampirism for the rest of his immortal life. And to have Camille as a sire. It was sickening. Anger rose in Simon’s blood. He couldn’t just leave it like this, couldn’t force this innocent into subservience under Camille. 

    Decision made, Simon brought his own wrist to his mouth and extended his fangs, cutting the skin lightly. The other man looked mildly horrified but the confused haze of death dulled his alarm. Simon reached forward and pressed his wrist to the young man’s lips. 

    “Please,” he whispered, and was surprised at how broken his own voice sounded. “Just…” He choked on his words. “Please.” 

    The half-fledgling gave him one last look of fear before his barely-formed instincts kicked in and his free hand came up to clasp Simon’s wrist, resting it against his own lips. Their blood mingled as the half-fledgling’s tongue lightly dragged across the cut, using the last of his energy to swallow, just once. He sat back afterwards, eyes closed. Simon continued to hold his hand, but those eyes did not open again. 

    He felt the pulse in those fingers falter, shake, then stop. Simon gasped out a sob. He brought the young man’s cold hand to his mouth and kissed the back. 

    “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. Elliot came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

    “Simon. What are we going to do with him?” 

    Simon sighed and stood, setting the half-fledgling’s hand gently on his stomach. “We’ll take him back to the hotel, contact those close to him, and give them the choice.” 

    Elliot’s face fell. He was older than Simon, but only now was he encountering the horror of what turning meant. 

    Simon crouched back towards the young man and reached into his pockets, pulling out a wallet and a phone. The wallet had a high school ID in it, which made Simon want to run off and stake Camille, with a name on it. Raphael Santiago. Even the voice in Simon’s head pronounced it with a Spanish lilt. He’d give the choice to Raphael’s contacts but the guilty part of Simon already wanted Raphael at the hotel. 

    The phone had no password. Simon pulled up the recent call history and found a call placed to someone named Clary Fray a couple hours earlier. Stan walked up to him and gestured for the phone but Simon shook his head. 

    He pressed the button to call Clary again and strode to the end of the alleyway. The phone rung just a few times when an amused voice picked up on the other end. 

    “Hey Raphael, what’s up? You said you were going home with that girl I didn’t think I’d hear from you until tomorrow morning.” The voice was light and teasing and Simon hated what he was about to have to do. 

    “Uh, hello. Am I speaking to Clary Fray?” 

    “Yep. Who is this?” 

    “My name is Simon Lewis. You don’t know me. There’s, uh, there’s been an accident.” 

    The voice on the other end gasped. “Oh my God, is Raphael ok? Where are you?” 

    Simon took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. He-he’s not really ok at all. We’re at the Hotel DuMort, do you know where that is?” A breathy “yes” came from the phone. “Ok. Come as soon as you can please. And don’t call the police.” 

    “Why?” 

    “Um, I already have.” 

    The other voice choked a little. “Ok. I’ll be there. Thank you for calling.” 

    Simon hung up. He walked back to the others and unceremoniously lifted Raphael’s body into his arms. He looked around at the assembled vampires. 

    “Split into groups and patrol the area. This happens to NO ONE ELSE. YOU HEAR ME?” The vampires nodded. “Elliot, Stan, with me. We’re taking him back.” 

    The two bowed and arranged themselves behind Simon as he took off, flying down the street, heedless of the weight in his arms. He skidded into the automatic doors and up the stairs to his room, leaping the gaps with ease. He kicked the door in, half because he needed to get inside, and half because he’d always wanted to do that. 

    Simon laid Raphael’s body on his bed then walked back out into the hallway to speak with Stan and Elliot. “We’ll need a stake and a shovel. And some blood. Could you ge-” 

    He hadn’t finished the sentence before his lieutenants took off. Lily came rushing up the stairs past them, approaching Simon. 

    “Simon what’s going on? Did you find the fledgling?” 

    Simon ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. He’s on my bed. That witch, Camille, left him alive just so he could die in front of us.” 

    Lily hissed. 

    “I called someone named Clary Fray. She’s coming to the hotel. We’re going to have to let her choose to stake him or bury him. And the faster we do it, the better. The Clave isn’t going to accept Camille going rogue as an excuse for not blaming us. No matter how perfectly logical it is.” He straightened up. “I’m prepared to defend our actions in court, but hopefully it won’t come to that.” 

    Lily nodded. She glanced over Simon’s shoulder. “Ouch, he looks young.” 

    “He is, last year of high school by the looks of it.” 

    “Damn Camille.” 

    “You mean more than she already is?” 

    Lily laughed. They were interrupted by the bell ringing. Simon ran downstairs to find Elliot had already let their visitors in, consisting of a frantic girl with wavy amber hair and two men, one tall with messy midnight hair and another almost as obnoxiously blonde as he was muscular. 

    Simon sniffed the air. “Shadowhunters,” he growled. He approached the girl, suddenly a great deal more guarded than concerned. “Who are you?” 

    “I’m Clary Fray, are you Simon Lewis? Is Raphael here? Can I see him?” 

    Simon jerked his head towards the men behind the girl. “These your friends?” 

    The girl spun around and gasped. She stumbled towards Simon. “No, not at all. I don’t even know who these guy are.” Her face turned a strange mix of angry and fearful. “Why are you following me?” 

    The blonde crossed his arms and smirked. “We were at the same club you were, ginger, and just so happened to hear your conversation.” 

    Simon stepped past Clary, clasping his hands behind his back and looking the Nephilim straight in the eyes. “Why are you here?” 

    The tall one shifted on his feet a bit, looking towards the door, but the blonde one lifted his chin, continuing to posture despite the danger. “We were on a routine mission in the area, and were just curious as to why the leader of the New York Vampire Clan would be calling a Mundane.” 

    Simon gritted his teeth. If these two were loyal to the Clave, and most Nephilim were, they would report a death caused by Camille, and at best it would call into Simon’s leadership. At worst he could be facing one of their Inquisitors. Lying was out of the question. An annoying voice in the back of his head suggested he just kill them. Simon laughed lightly, shaking the idea away. Intrusive thoughts spurred by vampire instincts. Wonderful things. 

    He’d just have to ride out the carnage, and not only on his end; the poor Mundane looked horrified at about everything. 

    “We have discovered a fledgling in transition. We suspect it was a crime committed by a rogue we kicked out several months ago.” He met the eyes of the Nephilim. “I would appreciate if you let us handle our business and restrained yourselves from intruding on vampire territory for your curiosity.” 

    The blonde’s smile dropped. He gestured to the girl. “What about the mundane? You’re going to have to explain the shadow world to her.” 

    Simon laughed, but it was humorless. “We will indeed.” 

    “So you’re just going to unleash her on the world?” 

    “Oh, no worries. She obviously has the Sight, she can see you, after all, and after we take care of her we’ll release her into your TLC so you can begin indoctrinating her to hate Downworlders while she regales you with the thrills of mundane life.”

    Simon may have been a bit stressed, and strung out on putting up with Shadowhunter racism for too long. 

    The taller Shadowhunter laid a hand on the blonde one’s shoulder before he could attack Simon. “Jace, let’s go. It was a bad idea to come here in the first place.” 

    Simon’s brows raised. Jace had been doing all of the talking but the tall one was clearly in charge. He had the same pain of leadership in the backs of his eyes Simon had. He locked eyes with Simon. 

    “You send the mundane over after. If she is hurt, the Clave will hear about it.” 

    Simon sighed and waved them out. It was a bit more disrespectful than he’d generally be with Nephilim, but it had been a long night. Sunrise was barely an hour away. 

    The tall one took the action in stride and practically pushed the blonde out the door. Clary’s head swung back to Simon the minute the door closed. He was amazed she’d managed to stay quiet up until then. 

    “Ok, nothing I just heard makes sense, but I’m going to make you explain it to me after I get to see Raphael. Where is he?” 

    Simon led her forward, past members of the clan who frowned at the mundane smell and the still lingering scent of angel blood. When he reached the first staircase he realized a problem. He turned awkwardly to Clary. 

    “Could you hold onto me?” 

    Clary frowned but hesitantly wrapped her arms around Simon. When she was secure Simon took a breath he didn’t need then leapt up the distance to the stairs. Clary shrieked and stepped away from him the minute he landed. 

    “What was that? How did you-? What?” 

    Simon had better get some of the awkwardness out of the way as soon as possible. There were a million different ways to explain but he chose the simplest. “I’m a vampire.” 

    Clary scoffed. Simon flashed his teeth. Clary’s mouth dropped open. “Where did those come from? Are they some sort of stage trick? If you’re lying to me I swear to God-” 

     Simon shook his head. “I wish I was. The best way I can say it is, ‘all of the legends are true.’ We live in a world populated by beings you have only imagined, but they’re well-hidden from normal humans like you, or ‘mundanes’ as we call them.” 

    Clary was still gaping. Simon added an addendum. “Well, maybe you’re not quite as mundane as you appear. You smell different from a natural mundane and you have the Sight.” 

    Hearing the capital Clary asked a question. “The what?” A lot of her questions seemed to be coming out this way. 

    “The ability to see people like me and the two boys who followed you. They aren’t vampires but a completely different species, called the Nephilim.” Clary looked as though she was getting more confused by the second. “Listen, I’m going to let them explain everything to you when I turn you over to them.” 

    “Why can’t you just tell me? Can’t I stay here?” 

    Simon almost chuckled. “No you can’t. Besides, Nephilim are charged with protecting humans. We, are not.” 

    He jumped Clary up a couple more steps then led her into his room. She gasped when she saw Raphael and rushed up to the bed to take his hand. Feeling no pulse in his hand, she collapsed on the bedspread, sobbing. Simon set a hand on her shoulder and she rounded on him. 

    “Is he dead?” 

    Simon rubbed the spot between his brows. “Technically yes. But there’s a catch. That’s why you’re here.” 

    Clary stood, still loosely holding Raphael’s hand. “He’s my best friend. I’ll do anything.” 

    “It isn’t that simple. He has been attacked by a vampire and drained of blood in an unusual way. It leaves you with two options.” Clary straightened up and silently regarded him. “You can stake him and let him die a normal human death, let his soul ascend to heaven, or…” 

    His voice trailed off. Clary just glared. 

    “Or what?” 

    “Or you can let us bury him and there is a slim chance he could complete the transition and become a vampire himself.” 

    Clary frowned. “So I could have him back.” 

    Simon shook his head. “Have him back yes, but he’d have to take on all the disadvantages of being a vampire. It’s not a glamorous state of being.” He grimaced, old memories flowing unwelcome into his mind. “He would never be able to go out in sunlight again. He’ll sleep during the day and drink blood.” Clary’s expression only wavered for a moment. Simon continued.

    “He’ll have fangs, skin as cold as ice, no heartbeat, and won’t breathe. For all intents and purposes, he’ll be a dead man walking.” 

     Clary stepped towards Simon. “I’ll do it.” 

    Simon sighed. “You don’t understand. You won’t be saving him, you’ll be damning him. Vampirism is not a gift he’ll thank you for.” 

    Clary’s face fell. Simon hated to hurt her more when she’d already been pulled out of a happy situation to a world where her best friend was dead, but he had to give her the facts. 

    “If you do this, you have to do it for him, not for you.” 

    Clary flinched. “What if I decide to do it for myself anyway?” 

    Simon frowned but met her eyes steadily. “I am bound to help you because of my fault in this. I’d do as you asked but rest assured that he would never forgive you.” 

    Clary’s eyes took on a menacing light, hidden behind a thin veneer of innocence. “Yes, how is this your fault? Why bring me here?” 

    It was Simon’s turn to hang his head. “I know the vampire who killed your friend. She was our old leader. I knew she was dangerous so when we ousted her I didn’t want to keep her here where she could hurt the young ones.” He sighed. “But by letting her walk out I unleashed her on the mundane world. I am responsible for the deaths of every human she has killed since, including your friend. I should have sent out a kill order for her earlier and prevented the whole disaster but I was too busy worrying about how vulnerable that would leave my clan if the warriors were constantly busy trying to kill her.” 

    Clary took another step closer to him and slapped him across the face. His head snapped back but it barely hurt. In a way he wished it had hurt more. “How dare you?! My friend is dead because of you!” 

    “I get that. Which is why I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you now, even though my entire immortal life won’t be enough, I know.” 

    Clary looked disgusted. “What if I choose neither option?” 

    “Then his soul floats in limbo, tormented, for eternity. And you have to choose by tonight. If we leave it longer, he will surely be trapped.” 

    Clary swore. “How long is that?” 

    “You have thirteen hours.” 

    She walked back to the bed and sat down, rubbing circles on Raphael’s hand. The fight sank out of her. She gazed down at her friend. “He had so much to live for, you know. He was going to college with a full ride. We had hoped he’d play piano professionally. He’d told me he was planning on double majoring and getting a degree in fashion while he was at it.” She laughed hollowly. “He always was an overachiever.” She took a shaky breath then continued. “He has a mother and little brothers. What are they going to say?” 

    Simon shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

    Clary’s head fell into her hands but she wasn’t crying. She was quiet for a whole minute. Then she looked up at Simon, fire burning in her eyes. “My decision’s made.” 

    Simon balked. “Are you sure?” 

    “You heard all he has to lose. I’m not going to deny him a chance to feel that love again, no matter if he hates me forever.” 

    Simon lowered his head. “He’ll have to watch them die.” 

    Clary gulped but didn’t falter. “He’d want to be with them until the end of the line. That’s the kind of man he is.” 

    Simon noticed the present tense and didn’t move further on the issue. He’d presented both sides and Clary had made her decision. It would be impossible to tell if it was the right one until Raphael told her from his own lips. Simon sat down beside Clary. 

    “We can’t do it until tonight. Feel free to spend that time how you will. You might want to invent an excuse as to why he isn’t home. If the burial doesn’t work we’ll change direction but for now I’m siding with hope.” 

    His posture slumped and he saw Clary relax beside him. This being a great and neutral leader thing still took it out of him.

    Clary didn’t ask many more questions and Simon left her, allowing her whatever she wanted for the rest of the day. 

    His lieutenants went to sleep but Simon stayed up, wound much too tightly. The night seemed to take its time falling but the minute it did, Simon, Clary, and Raphael’s body sped out of the hotel, to the nearest cemetery. He offered the shovel to Clary but she almost broke down with two scoops of dirt so Simon took it and finished the job, digging a grave several feet down.

    Then they laid Raphael down at the bottom and Simon covered up the body. Clary turned her back, unable to watch. 

    There was nothing to do but wait. A cloud passed over the moon and the entire layer of dirt shook. Clary dug her nails into Simon’s arm. It was a good sign but they weren’t off the hook yet. He gritted his teeth, deftly avoiding scraping his lips with his fangs. 

    Then at the center of the grave the dirt stirred and a pale hand shot up. Simon breathed a sigh of relief, crossing over with Clary’s gasp of horror. He waited until the poor fledgling had crawled all the way out and was panting on the ground before approaching him and holding out a blood bag. 

    “Here,” he said. The bag was out of his hand before he even finished the word. He was pleased to see how quickly the fledgling took to it but with his supernatural hearing he heard the movement of Clary’s hands to cover her mouth. He sighed internally. If she wasn’t going to be supportive Raphael’d be the one to suffer. 

    He handed another blood bag to Raphael who drained it like the first one but with a kind of beautiful savagery. Simon was surprised. Most fledglings came out ravenously insane but even in his newborn state a kind of grace was ingrained in Raphael. 

    After the second bag the fledgling stopped gasping and braced his elbows on the ground, breathing with his lips almost touching the grass. He got his feet under him next and rolled onto his knees, flicking sweaty hair out of his face. Blood still dripped down his chin but his eyes were clear if fearful. They focused on Simon. 

    “Ángel?” He asked again and Simon almost cried. 

    “Hey. Not an angel, but I’m honored.” 

    Raphael laughed dryly, still unused to not having to breathe. His mind was telling his body to do what was unnecessary and it was over compensating. His gaze moved quickly from Simon to Clary. 

    “Carrot, what are you doing here? Where are we?” 

    Clary choked on a laugh, then knelt down next to Raphael, before wrapping him in her arms. He looked startled and didn’t really return the hug. She pulled back, smiling but tears glittered in her eyes. 

    “Hey Carrot don’t be getting sappy on me. What’s going on?” 

    Simon opened his mouth to explain but Raphael’s eyes then noted a smear of blood on Clary’s shoulder than had rubbed off his chin. He reached forward to touch it then his hand moved back to his own lips and the red that was dripping down his chin. 

    “Oh my G-” he choked on the word. “What the hell is going on?” 

    Simon laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be hard to explain and kind of freaky but I want you to promise me you won’t run away. It’s dangerous.” 

    Raphael’s gorgeous eyes widened but to Simon’s surprise he just coughed, wiped all of the blood off of himself with a sleeve and folded his legs underneath himself. He was silent. Simon stared, shocked. 

    “What?” Raphael questioned. “I thought you were going to explain.” 

    Simon felt like smiling stupidly for a moment then the situation came back to him. He cleared his throat. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

    “I met some girl at the club. I was walking back somewhere with her, I don’t remember really why, but then everything goes black.” 

    He looked up at Simon, concern shining in his eyes. Simon sighed. 

    “You were attacked.” 

    “By who?” 

    “The woman you were walking with was no normal munda--human. She attacked you and…” This was the hard part. “You died.”

    Raphael snorted. “What? Are you on something? I’m still obviously alive.” 

    Simon hated to do this. He grabbed Raphael’s hand and brought it up to his own chest, where his heart used to beat. They waited for a couple moments then Raphael looked back at Simon, panicked. 

    “I’ll repeat myself, what the hell is going on?” He snarled. 

    “That woman was a vampire. She drained you of your blood and left you for dead. We found you.” 

    Raphael looked at Clary. “You and Clary?” It was amazing how he could still sound concerned for how his friend might have felt even in the first moments of his own eternal life. Simon shook his head. 

    “No, me and a couple of friends. We called Clary and gave her a choice.” 

    Clary spoke up. “You were in something Simon called ‘transition,’ like half dead. I could kill you fully, or resurrect you as a vampire.” 

    Raphael’s head ping-ponged between the two of them as if someone was going to tell him this was a joke. Simon expected some screaming, maybe a miniature breakdown and demands for answers but what he didn’t expect was Raphael taking a deep breath and folding his fingers. 

    “So I’m a vampire now?” He asked the question as though it was coming out of someone else’s mouth. 

    Simon nodded. “Before you ask, vampires are not the only supposedly fake species who exist. There are werewolves, and warlocks, and Seelies, and nixies and pixies and elves and-” 

    Raphael shot him a murderous look. 

    “Right. Sorry.” 

    “So what is going to happen to me now?” 

    Simon sighed. “You’ve had enough strange and confusing insanity happen in the past day. I’ll explain later. We should sleep.” 

    Raphael exhaled hard, still calm outwardly but surely spinning on the inside. “Don’t you--we stay awake during the night?” 

    Simon smiled and stood. “Normally yes, but I haven’t slept in the past fourteen hours and you are still on normal time. We’ll sleep through this night and the next day.” 

    He offered his hand to Raphael, who took it, brushing dirt off of his clothes with the other. Once all three were standing, Raphael didn’t let go of Simon’s hand. 

    “Can I go home?” 

    Simon’s stomach twisted. “Not yet. You don’t know how to control your bloodlust yet and as much as I’d love to say yes, it’s better if you’re somewhere I can keep an eye on you.” 

    “But my mother! My brothers! They’re going to think I’ve gone missing.” 

    Clary took Raphael’s other hand. “I already told them you were called away to a work-related event for a couple days.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry this all happened to you.” 

    Raphael scoffed. “It isn’t your fault. Can’t be too bad.” 

    On his other side, Simon’s hand shook. Once Raphael began to comprehend what had happened, he may not be so forgiving. 

    He let Raphael go so he could hug Clary tight, promising to see each other the next night. They took quite a while to let go, Clary especially. Simon pulled Clary aside and told her he was going to send Lily to her the next night, who would take her to the Shadowhunters. Clary thanked him and turned away with a sniff. Simon took Raphael’s hand again and with a step, sped off down the street. 

    The hand holding was multipurpose. Fledgling speed meant Raphael could keep up easily but if he was holding Simon’s hand, it was less likely he’d swing into a telephone pole. And it was for emotional support. On both ends. 

    They entered the hotel through a backdoor; the clan would probably be too much for a fledgling who was so dazed he hadn’t even discovered his own fangs yet. Simon thought about leaving Raphael in a guest room but then remembered the bloodlust and lack of control of his own beginnings. He walked up to his room instead.

    Once they were inside he sorted through his own clothes and threw Raphael a set of pajamas. He invited the fledgling to use his shower, hoping that washing the blood away might do something for Raphael’s mood. They took turns changing on opposite sides of the room afterwards, silent. 

    Simon kept thinking Raphael was going to break under the stress at any given moment, but the fledgling remained quiet, changing as he was supposed to, then sinking into a plush armchair. The pant legs were slightly too long for him, as were the sleeves, and under any other circumstances Simon would have found it unbearably adorable. As it was, it just made the fledgling look younger, more vulnerable, and very scared. 

    Simon set his jewelry on a side table then hopped onto his bed, gesturing Raphael to come too. The fledgling didn’t move. 

    “Come on, the bed’s more than big enough for both of us.” He tried to keep his tone light and teasing. Raphael was not amused. 

    But he did get up and curl up under Simon’s covers, squeezed into a couple inches of space on the right side. Simon grimaced at his back but slipped under himself, reaching out to pat Raphael on the shoulder before turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. 

    His internal clock set him at about the beginning of a night, and it was with a frown that Simon recalled this time the night before. If he closed his eyes he could remember the phantom warmth of Marlin’s hug, the delicious blood they’d drank, and how hard he’d laughed to see Lily drink every single one of Marlin’s advisors under the table. Then Owen had burst through the entrance and Simon couldn’t remember anything from that point on that hadn’t been tinged with pain. Now here Simon was, in bed with a fledgling, trying to decide whether to hold him or to just lie there and pretend he didn’t hear the sniffles. 


	2. Chapter Two

    Simon twitched slightly as his body woke up, scrunching his nose away from the sensation of nightfall. He didn’t open his eyes. He tried to raise his arms to rub at them but one of his arms felt stuck, and both deceptively warm for a vampire. His brows scrunched up. That was odd. Against his own desires he raised his hands to his face.

    Judging by the impressions on the sheets, he’d rolled over some time in the night and grabbed onto Raphael, dragging him into the center of the bed and securing him tightly. He had his arms wrapped entirely around the fledgling, one trapped between the curve of his neck and the mattress while the other hand been flung over Raphael’s waist, fingers linked loosely at the ends. 

    The fledgling himself had curled closer to the source of warmth, his hands balled up and resting against Simon’s chest, and his head just barely untucked from its spot leaning on Simon’s clavicle. With this positioning, their stretched out legs seemed the same length. 

    Simon shifted slightly. It had been ages since he slept with another being, hearkening all the way back to when his most recent fledglings, those of about a decade ago, had their first nightmares. 

    With eternity ahead of him, Simon refused to call the fledglings full vampires until they were ten, and also because it was cute. Fledgling implied tiny bird and even the toughest new vampires warmed up more easily to Simon this way. 

    With a little wiggling he removed his arm from under Raphael’s neck and propped his own body on it. From this angle he could see the bitemarks just beginning to fade on Raphael’s neck. They looked deep even with fledgling healing and Simon felt himself find another yet undiscovered level of hatred for Camille. 

    The fledgling twitched in his sleep then rolled slightly more onto his stomach. The minute he did so his body stiffened and while he didn’t wake up he seemed to be in intense discomfort. Simon frowned as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Thinking quickly, he shook Raphael, waking him up. 

    The fledgling startled awake and sat up, regarding the light layer of sweat that had accumulated on his body during that time. The smell did not abate but Raphael was still too out of it to move further than sitting up. Simon turned Raphael’s head to face him. 

    “Are you wearing anything religious or sacred?” 

    The fledgling didn’t respond verbally, but, wincing at the contact, he pulled out the chain of a golden cross that had miraculously not reacted with his skin until this point. 

    Simon reached around behind his neck and unlocked the necklace. Raphael, still half asleep, lunged for it with fledgling strength and ended up knocking Simon painfully against the headboard. 

    “What are you doing?” Raphael demanded. 

    Simon sat up, rubbing his head, and was vindictively pleased to see a shadow of guilt pass over the fledgling’s face. He held the necklace out towards Raphael, the chain wrapped around his fingers. 

    “I’m sorry to say so but form this point onward you’ll have to be careful with religious symbols. Their angelic nature burns vampire flesh.” 

    It was as though the life had been sucked out of Raphael all over again. He withdrew the hand that had been reaching for the cross and instead set unsteady fingers in his lap, his shoulders hunching. 

    Simon reached out with his free hand and set it on Raphael’s shoulder. The fledgling didn’t look up. 

    “Hey. Hey it’s going to be ok. With time you can learn how to hold it again without it hurting too much.” 

    A resolve growing in him, he pushed Raphael back slightly so their eyes had to meet. 

    “I mean it. Being a vampire doesn’t mean you’re damned or have to give up your religion.” 

    He took a breath, then finished the pep-talk with the most important line. 

    “This isn’t our fault.” 

    Raphael just sighed. 

    “Then, p-pray tell, whose is it?” 

    He stumbled on the religious word but powered through. Simon smiled internally. 

    Then the happy disappeared as he registered what Raphael had said. 

    “The one who turned you, Camille.” He spat the name. 

    “Will she be punished?” 

    Simon blinked. Raphael’s tone was calm but a fire burned in the back of his eyes. Simon felt the same. 

    “One can hope. As soon as I can get you settled I’m going to send out a kill order for her.” 

    “I’m settled now, why can’t you issue that kill order thing now?” 

    Simon grinned wryly. “Come now, patience is a virtue.” 

    He was joking but Raphael didn’t take it well. 

    “I seem to be lacking in those right about now.” 

    Simon’s smile disappeared. He tightened his grip on Raphael’s shoulder. 

    “If a self-hate phase is what it takes for you to become comfortable, which for many it is, go ahead. But I’ll only allow it if you promise me that by the end of it you’ll remember you’re a great person, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and are the victim of a force beyond your control.” 

    Raphael scoffed, but it was softer and sounded almost like a sigh. “How do you know I’m a good person?” 

    It was Simon’s turn to scoff. “Please, anyone who calls their best friend Carrot and accepts a life of vampirism with calm control just so she doesn’t get scared has to be a good person. You put the needs of others above your own. That’s enough for me.” 

    Simon smiled and to his delight got the faintest glimmer of a grin back. 

    “Come on, let’s get ready for the night.” 

    Raphael squinted at the clock on Simon’s bedstand. “Is it night?” 

    “Yep, new vampiric circadian rhythms. Sleep by day, party by night.” 

    The joke was weak, but it got yet another one of those almost grins out of Raphael. 

    Simon got up and made for his closet, swinging the large doors open. For how large the walk-in closet was, it contained a depressing amount of clothing that barely filled the shelves. Most of them were t-shirts mixed in no particular order with the few suits he had to wear to vampire meetings like the one with Marlin. He grabbed a graphic tee that was too small for him along with some sweatpants and tossed them in Raphael’s direction. The fledgling let them fall on the bed without catching them, staring at them in disgust. Simon snorted and pulled out another set of similar clothing for himself. 

    “Calm down, they’re just clothes. We may be vampires, but not everything about us bites.” 

    Raphael groaned. “I’m not afraid of the clothes. I just find your sense of style…interesting.” 

    Simon strode back into the main room shirtless, scandalized. “Oh you did not just say that! Retro is sexy.” 

    Raphael looked up at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Is it?” He questioned. 

    Simon growled and went back to the closet for the shirt he dropped on the floor. Raphael shifted on the bed behind him and when Simon had turned around the fledgling was craning his neck to see inside the closet. 

    “So you do own some decent clothing. I’ll wear one of those suits.” 

    No, please Simon, or may I Simon, just “I’ll wear one.” Simon made a mental note to stop giving in to confident people as he riffled obediently through the suits before handing one off to Raphael. 

    The fledgling identified a side door as the entrance to the bathroom and strode in with the clothing. Simon just sighed and picked up the outfit Raphael had discarded, hanging it back up. 

    The fledgling in question emerged a minute later, adjust his cufflinks and tie as though he was a businessman on his way to a party, and Simon wasn’t even in the room. The way he handled the expensive suit spoke of expertise and poise. Raphael spun to face the stunned clan leader and Simon could have sworn his dead heart skipped a little beat there. 

    This particular suit had never been a favorite of his and he hadn’t bothered to get it tailored to his shape, just pulled it off the rack. But by some magic only Magnus could explain, the shape it did fit was Raphael’s. The black undershirt seemed nightmare dark under the deep blue, diamond patterned jacket and it matched the slacks perfectly. 

    Simon regretted his enhanced senses for the first time in his life as every little detail was presented to him in a display he couldn’t glance away from. In his shirt and sweats it seemed odd that he was clan leader and not the other way around. 

    The fledgling was oblivious to Simon’s staring, moving towards the door and out into the hall before Simon realized it had happened. Once he did, he sped to catch up, unprepared to deal with a whole host of questions Raphael was bound to have, not to mention the reactions of all the clan members. 

    Simon caught Raphael’s shoulder right as he was turning down a hallway towards the staircase. 

    “Wait up, there’s a couple things you may need help getting used to.” 

    Raphael turned his body just enough to be facing Simon. It seemed wearing clothes he was familiar with were facilitating the true personality that had been hidden under the panic vampirism brings. 

    “Such as?” 

    Simon turned them around the corner and pointed at the staircase. 

    “Such as that.” 

    Like all the staircases in the hotel, it stopped fourteen or so feet above the floor, dangling in space. Raphael squinted at it. 

    “It…stops.” 

    Simon stifled a giggle. “That it does. We use them to keep out non-vampires. Our enhanced strength means we can just jump down.” 

    Raphael raised an eyebrow. Simon’s eyes followed the imperious movement almost unconsciously. 

    “But then can’t someone put traps on the floor below and keep you on the upper floors?” 

    Simon was about to retort when what Raphael had said sunk in. Come to think of it, that made sense, and he was annoyed with himself for not realizing it sooner. He felt the tips of his ears heat up, the vampire version of a blush and rushed ahead down the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Come on baby, we’ll be late for breakfast.” 

    He heard the fledgling growl behind him and when his feet hit the floor moments later he turned an annoyed expression on Simon. 

    “What did you call me?” 

    Simon steeled himself and tried to keep from smiling. “Baby,” he said. “Because you’re a baby vamp.” He would never tell Raphael that the real reason he called him that was the way he slept, curled up in a ball of warmth. 

    “I don’t like it.” 

    Simon grinned. “Too bad, because until you turn one, you’re a baby vamp to me.” 

    “I’m 17!” 

    “Yep. But you’re a newborn vamp. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to buy a single candle for you to blow out.” 

    “Will you call me by my name then?” 

    “Nope,” Simon popped the word. “Then you’ll be ‘fledgling.’ When you’re ten you’ll be full grown and ready to leave the nest.” 

    Raphael raised an eyebrow again. “I think this metaphor has gotten away from you.” 

    But other than that he didn’t object. People rarely did when Simon got like this. They usually decided it wasn’t worth the effort to change his mind. 

    The kitchen was somewhat empty when they got down, inhabited by just Elliot. Elliot took a moment to openly look Raphael up and down then did the same to Simon, the amusement clear in his eyes. The corners of his immortally young eyes crinkled. 

    “Looking good, Simon,” he joked. Simon scoffed and strode over to the refrigerator. 

    “Ha. Ha.” 

    He fumbled around for a bit, pulling out two bags of O+, one of his favorites. He tossed the other one to Raphael who fumbled the catch, a grimace fixing itself onto his face. Simon gestured at him. 

    “Go on, put it in the microwave. No one really drinks it cold except for Elliot.” He glared at the vampire in question. “And he’s weird.” 

    Elliot huffed. Raphael ignored Simon’s order, turning the bag over in his hands, the scowl getting deeper. 

    “So, Simon,” he said the name as though he was testing it out. “Is this what we do now? Just drink…this…” His voice trailed off. 

    Simon felt a twinge of guilt. For someone who’d grown up on soft drinks and juices, the prospect of drinking blood must only seem like another piece of evidence that one was damned and inhuman. 

    “Unfortunately, yes. And as much as I’d like to ease you into the feeling, fledglings need to drink more than typical vampires, and it’ll hurt you more later if you starve yourself.” 

    Raphael raised his frown to Simon’s eyes. “What later? I’m going to be 17 forever, what does it matter?” 

    “Well, while we don’t exactly ‘grow’ the transition from fledgling to fully-fledged vampire is accompanied by a couple biological changes. Well, biological is a bit of a misnomer due to the, you know, ‘bio’ part, but anyway,” Simon waved his hands and tried to summarize the information. “Fledglings have unnatural bursts of strength that will fade away with age. The first wave is rapid and lasts the first year and then tapers off until ten. Drinking blood and staying strong in that first year helps keep the strength from disappearing as much.” 

    Raphael looked less happy than before if that was possible but he was holding the bag steady and his distaste had turned into frustration brought on by understanding. 

    “So I’ll never be as strong as I am now? What a waste.” 

    Simon shook his head. “No. With training any vampire can work their way back up to or surpass fledgling strength but it does fade quickly during the adjustment period. Fledglings are just seen as having abnormal strength because really old vampires don’t bother to keep up their strength and fledgling look stronger to them.” 

    Raphael shrugged and turned away to put the blood in the microwave. Simon saw the side of his face twist up in confusion but he refused to ask for help and just pressed the express button. A silence fell until the microwave beeped. Raphael opened it, poked the bag, then frowned and put it back in with a more annoyed press of the button. 

    Simon was torn between the guilt and deep emotion he felt about Raphael’s turning and the desire to squeal internally over how cute he was and how nice it was to have another sarcastic kid in the hotel. When the bag temperature met Raphael’s standards he carried it over to Simon and plopped it onto the countertop. 

    “What do I do with it?” 

    Simon had barely ever heard someone sound so presumptuous and so frustrated at the same time. He took the bag, turned it so the plastic end stuck out and stabbed into it with an obnoxious orange bendy straw. He held it out to Raphael with a beam. 

    “Here.” 

    Raphael was not impressed. He tore the straw out and instead just fastened his mouth over the plastic end and sucked on it, squeezing the bag like a yogurt strip. Simon saw him wince a little in disgust, but whatever had kept him somewhat calm until this point enabled him to see Simon’s reasoning about his strength and finished the bag. He tossed it into a trashcan then spun on Simon, cracking his knuckles. 

    Simon’s eyes widened and in the corner, Elliot chuckled. 

    “What do we do now?” 

    Simon ran his hand through his hair. 

    “Uh, we could watch a movie, or play video games,” he offered. Raphael snorted. 

    “Really?” 

    Simon nodded. “I mean, yeah.” 

    “I’ve just been turned into a vampire and the first thing you want to do is play video games?” 

    Simon folded his arms. “Honestly, yes.” 

    Raphael cut in, “Vampires move at much slower paces than humans don’t they.” 

    Simon bristled a little. “No necessarily. I just thought that because this is your first night,” He made a vague circle with his hand. “You would want to just relax a bit and we’d give you Magic Exists 101 tomorrow.” 

    Raphael shook his head. “No. I want to know as much as I can. If this is going to be how I live for the next eternity, I’d feel better if I had a handle on the situation.” 

    He turned away, biting his lip. Simon just nodded. 

    “Come down then, and I’ll introduce you to the clan. We can go over lore after that.” 

    He made to move down the stairs when he felt a sudden pressure on his shoulder and had to swing half around and grab up Raphael in his arms to keep him from falling. It became clear that Raphael had been trying to grab Simon on the shoulder and his speed had kicked in and sent him careening across the room. Simon steadied him and raised both his eyebrows. 

    “Yes?” 

    “Clary.” 

    Simon’s heart sank a bit. “Is she OK? Where is she?” 

    “She should be fine. After she left us, I sent Elliot here to make sure she got home safe and gave her instructions to nearest Institute.” He saw the question coming and cut it off in as short a manner as he could. “It’s a place where the…policemen…of this realm can help let her know what’s going on so she’ll learn how to keep safe.” 

    Elliot took a step up to them, he met Raphael’s concerned gaze. “She’s a strong one, your Clary, got home just fine. I have a feeling she’s gonna be alright.” 

    Simon thanked Elliot with his eyes as the panic drained from Raphael’s face. Then the full sentence hit Raphael.   
“Clary isn’t _my Clary_. No way. We’re best friends.” 

    Simon had never been one to miss out on a teasing opportunity. “Are you sure~?” 

    Raphael just glared at him. 

    They jumped down to the lobby area where a great deal of Simon’s clan were sprawled on couches and armchairs in their pajamas. Simon cleared his throat loudly and everyone looked up. He clapped his hands and then twisted then behind his back. 

    “Everyone, this is Raphael. He’s new.” 

    Simon floundered for words a bit and the exasperated look Raphael was giving him wasn’t helping. 

    “Uh, Raphael, this is everyone.” 

    A couple vampires called out hellos and good nights which Raphael found exceedingly weird for a moment. 

    Simon stepped down into the room and approached Lily, Raphael trailing behind him. She put her book down and got up as they approached. She stuck out a hand to Raphael. 

    “Hi, I’m Lily, Simon’s second in command.” 

    Raphael shook it and snorted. “So you’re basically in charge.” 

    “Hey!” Simon interjected, but Lily just smiled wider. 

    “I think I’m going to like you,” she said to Raphael. They exchanged a couple more pleasantries then moved on. Raphael also had an instant connection with Stan as he was one of the only ones in the room dressed formally despite the earliness of the night. They said little but the glances they exchanged up and down each other were approving. 

    The very old ones greeted Raphael with the amusement of parents which he didn’t take all too well to and the younger ones immediately flocked to him and took him out of Simon’s hands. Simon worried for a moment how Raphael was going to react if his brand of personality has matched well with Lily and Stan of all people but the minute one of the physically very young vampires approached Raphael with a book and handed it to him, Simon saw the way Raphael’s face softened. 

    He became more animated in a matter of minutes, ignoring Simon completely. Simon thought of continuing Raphael’s tour of the hotel but it became clear that he had utterly forgotten his original intentions. The lore he had hoped for would have to wait until the next night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less down the angst hole. But I can’t make any promises. And of course Raphael is great with kids, because I love that. Even if time wise they’re older than him. 
> 
> Sorry this is super late. Really I have had this written for a while but was really busy and didn't publish it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this was supposed to be cool then it spiraled down the angst rabbit hole. Sorry about that. If I get requests to continue maybe future content will be happier.
> 
> For the tumblr users who wanted Clan Leader!Simon and Fledgling!Raphael. Please let me know if my Simon seems out of character, specifically too confident. However, do consider that I have automatically changed his speech and character a little to account for him having Raphael’s experience. 
> 
> Say hello to me on tumblr @Ragingstillness I'm always looking out for new friends


End file.
